


Pretty Good

by tiptoe39



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Conversations, Drunkenness, First Kiss, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-13
Updated: 2010-05-13
Packaged: 2017-10-09 10:31:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/86310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiptoe39/pseuds/tiptoe39
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam is a happy drunk.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pretty Good

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by the fantastic [](http://entangled-now.livejournal.com/profile)[**entangled_now**](http://entangled-now.livejournal.com/).

Things sparkle a little when Sam's got a good buzz going. Words and lines slide together, and he feels like a toddler on a swingset, the kind of baby he has the feeling he never got to be. When he's really toasted sometimes he gets belligerent, sure, but if he's only a few feet south of sober, the tension goes away and he's able to almost enjoy himself.

He's happy enough to strike up a conversation with the next guy at the bar without even looking at him. "Life can be pretty good sometimes, you know?"

Sam's hands are wrapped around his beer bottle, fingers glistening with dewdrops of condensation that have skittered down the glass. His companion looks down at those fingers and chews on his lip. "Suppose it can be," he says. "If you know which parts to look at, and which to shut out."

Sam turns up one palm and leans his chin on it. The drops of water slide against his cheek. He squints at the man and thinks he has seen him before. "You're very smart," he says. "Very smart. You're a smart guy."

The man beside him tilts his head away, looking up at a trophy on the high shelf behind the bar. "And you, pigeon, are adorable when you're drunk."

"Pigeon?" Sam spits out the P. Words are still sliding every which way, and part of the fun is trying to get his slack mouth around them. "Say, don't I know you?"

"You do at that." The man reaches out and pats him on the head. His hand is hot, and Sam winces, like he's just touched the edge of a frying pan.

Sam scrutinizes his face. The way that nose turns up, the high drift of that forehead, he's seen it before. "You're not... Are you?" he says, and waits for an answer, as though he hadn't left out that crucial middle.

His companion frowns at him. "That all depends, Sammy-boy," he says. "What do you want me to be?"

Sam gulps. His stomach is feeling funny. And his head is light, like a big bubble. Like he's made of chewing gum all over. "Maybe... someone I wanted to talk to?" he said. "You know, once."

"Come to think of it, I owe you a talk. You did get through the game." The man folds his arms. "You cheated, but a win is a win. I owe you."

"Yeah." Sam's grin's a big crocodile grin, too many teeth, too sunny. "Yeah, you do."

He knows who he's talking to now, and all the wariness he should be feeling is sort of melted into a muddle of pleasure and relief. He's been in trouble plenty in his life. Talking to a jerkwad in a bar doesn't even register, even if it's _that_ jerkwad.

Besides, he really did want to talk to him.

"So, what do I call you, then?" he asks. "Do you prefer Trickster, or..."

"Aw, now that you know, you might as well call me Gabriel." The sharp-eyed man puts his hand around a barely touched glass of something the same color as his hair.

It's awfully shiny hair, Sam thinks. He likes shiny things, especially when he's drunk. They dance in front of his eyes, big shimmering pageants for his entertainment. Gabriel's hair does the same thing. It's like a curtain. A shower curtain. Oh, his brain is just slower than molasses right now. It's sliding and falling in a million different directions. He should focus. Focus, focus.

He brings the beer bottle to his forehead and the cold slaps him a little bit more awake.

Gabriel's watching him with a baby smile on his face, the sort of smile that's just waiting for a chance to grow. "Oh, you're fun on the inside," he comments. "A little alcohol and your brain goes everywhere. Like an octopus on roller skates."

Sam squints. "An octopus?"

"Never mind." Gabriel spins on his bar stool. "So, champ. What do you want to talk about? Now that you've got me."

"Mmm." Sam's still spinning around with octopi and shower curtains. There's a definite wet theme happening here. "Life, I think."

"Life?"

"Yeah." Sam nods firmly. "Definitely life."

"You sound a little bit Rain Man there, but okay." Gabriel's hand rises to smooth out the wrinkles in his shirtsleeve. Arm folded across his chest, he looks down at himself, suddenly picky as he fusses over the crease. His fingers move so fast Sam thinks they might be greased. "So. Life," Gabriel goes on. "What about it?"

Sam extends his own palm, spreads his fingers wide. "It's pretty good." He grins. His hand still has five fingers, and that's a huge comfort. Still human. Still him.

"I don't disagree." Gabriel empties his glass in one go, gulping hard, and the tumbler hits the bar with a demanding clack.

"And that," Sam says, "is why you should help us." He draws the outstretched hand back, then claps it onto Gabriel's back. Gabriel hiccups and sputters. Sam laughs. "Life is good. End of the world means no more life."

Gabriel lifts his nose haughtily. "For you, maybe. I get to go on as long as I like."

"But where's your ent-- entertainment?" The word slides around like a bar of soap on Sam's tongue. He has to reach and grab to get it out. "Where's the next great candy bar? Who are you gonna punish if we're not around to be stupid? See, I know what you like. I don't like what you do, but I know that once we're gone, you're gonna be bored as hell."

He says it all with a smile on his face, like he knows best, and he's going to lecture the entire world into submission if he has to. Gabriel's eyebrows twitch in irritation. "My brothers aren't the most imaginative guys," he admits.

"And they totally won't get your pop culture references, either." Sam's eyes widen as though he's just now realizing this. "Dude, no more pop culture. That's _tragic._"

It is, too. Totally tragic that no one will be around to make a really awful Spider-Man 4, or design a car so cool-looking that even Dean will be impressed, or remake The Dukes of Hazzard for a Generation Twitter audience, or come up with something even more brilliant. It's the possibility of all those things that makes Sam beam. People, human beings, they're the ones who come up with all the fun stuff. Fun enough to make an archangel keep busy for centuries just playing with it.

Oh, he's brilliant. It's a killer argument. Gabriel's got to see he's right. Gabriel's totally going to go for it. Gabriel's awfully close now, isn't he?

He really is. His mouth is puckered into the shape and color of a strawberry. There's something in his eyes that looks jealous, or possessive, or some other emotion that says _you have what I want._ Sam's just a little bit intimidated now, not enough to back off, but enough to look at the strawberry-shaped lips and worry what's going to come out of them.

They twitch before they part. "It's too bad more humans aren't like you, Sam." Gabriel half-smiles, and his hand rises to hover over Sam's hair. Sam winces in advance waiting for another abrupt head pat, but it doesn't happen. Instead, Gabriel takes hold of a stray lock of Sam's hair and tucks it carefully behind his ear. His hand's still hot. Sam swallows hard.

"But they are like me," he says, struggling to keep his eyes focused on Gabriel's. "They're all just like me. They're all messed-up, and... and confused, and they don't know what they want but they know they haven't got it." His lip trembles. His head feels wobbly. "So they keep trying. That... that's the good thing. They don't give up. Maybe they do things wrong, but they don't give up. Because it's worth it. Whatever life is... it's worth it."

Gabriel puts a finger over his lips. It might as well be melting wax, sealing his mouth shut. "Pretty words," Gabriel says. Sam stares at him mutely, then crosses his eyes to look down at the finger across his lips. His mouth starts to purse, and Gabriel withdraws his hand. "Pretty words from a pretty mouth."

Sam sucks his lips inward. He looks like a toothless old man. "My mouf ivn't pretty," he protests.

Blue eyes sparkle. "Yes, it is." Gabriel moves closer. "A very pretty mouth."

Sam lets out a breath. His mouth relaxes. "Gabriel--"

"It pisses me off," Gabriel says sternly. "That mouth saying such pretty things."

And Gabriel's lips seal over his — sweet, soft, too hot to be human. Press and pucker, and then a wet sound as they part. Tongue sweeps across Sam's bottom lip, and Gabriel pulls away.

Sam's heart is racing. He gasps. "I didn't... did you?" Again, the most important part is left out. Like Gabriel stole it, captured it between his lips in that kiss and won't give it back. Sam frowns.

"You know what pisses me off the most?" Gabriel says. "You say pretty things, and you make me wish they were true."

Sam realizes he's trembling. Gabriel's hands, shaking on the bar, are shivery ice-white, like twin swans. Sam wants to cover them with his own. "They are true," he says. "Gabriel, they--"

Lips cut his words off again. The kiss melts hard fire into his mouth. Sam hears himself moan. He reaches out to pull Gabriel in, but he can't. He's been pushed away, the kiss ended too soon, too abruptly.

"Don't." A warning tone. "Don't say my name anymore."

"You... you told me to." Sam's eyes are pleading, his lips are pleading. Gabriel's kiss has doused him in fire and sugar. He wants more.

Gabriel shakes his head. He breaths low, shallow breaths and looks away. "You say my name, and it sounds right. And nothing's right anymore."

"What does that matter?" Impulsive, Sam grabs the white hands, squeezes them tight. "What does it matter if it's right or wrong? It _is._"

"That's pretty Taoist of a boy who's destined to be Lucifer's--"

And then Gabriel's the one cut off, because Sam's hands have moved up Gabriel's arms to his shoulders and have pulled, jerked him in sharply. Because Sam's mouth is taking, ardently, sucking up the red press of Gabriel's lips, and under the kiss Sam is smiling.

"That's a name _I_ don't wanna hear," Sam mumbles into Gabriel's mouth.

Gabriel bites his lower lip softly. "Fair enough."

But when Sam next says Gabriel's name, Gabriel doesn't complain.


End file.
